


Pennies or Nickels or Dimes? (We live in Perilous Times)

by OrdinaryVanity



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: EVERYBODY TRANS but it's only relevant to Eddie and Tim, M/M, PI Riddler, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, actually its relevant to bruce too bc eddie knows him from like. gotham gsa meetings, im so weak for pi riddler tho like?? theres so much potential there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12897993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrdinaryVanity/pseuds/OrdinaryVanity
Summary: PI Riddler, wherin Jonathan has some...complaints about Eddie's new occupation, so Edward turns to his only friend: Bruce Wayne.





	Pennies or Nickels or Dimes? (We live in Perilous Times)

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in some sort of alternate universe where Damien isn't a thing yet, Bruce is still Batman, Dick dosent live in the mansion anymore, and Tim is the current Robin.

"Jon, we can't keep doing this," Edward said, crossing his arms as he frustratedly entered the door to their shared apartment, dropping his bag on the entryway table. "I can't keep covering for you! I don't want to put my own career at risk, just because _you_ can't seem to stop stealing and torturing people! The crime has to stop," he said with finality, daring Jonathan to argue the point.

It'd been building for weeks, this tension between them. Ever since Edward recovered from his Hush-induced coma, things had...changed, between himself and Jonathan, mostly due to the fact that Edward saw no reason to continue being a criminal. Batman had given him a clean slate, and hell nor high water saw fit to keep him from it. Hell and high water, however, were no match for the former Dr. Crane.

Jonathan initially went along with Edwards dealings with the police department, assuming they were part of some longer puzzle he had yet to work out. But as more time passed, he slowly began to realise that Edward truly had changed, that his reforms were genuine in nature. The final nail in the coffin, though, was Edward leading the police directly to Jonathan during a robbery. Jonathan had of course told Edward about the planned heist- he'd been planning for some time of course, and given that he was usually aided by Edward, old habits did tend to die hard. To his great surprise, no less than 10 minutes after he began the robbery, police were waiting at the warehouse, pistols at the ready. 

They, Jonathan could handle, and indeed he managed to escape by gassing the policemen and dashing out a side door. What he couldn't handle, however, was the white hot knife of betrayal twisting in his gut, the knowledge that he knew exactly where the tip had come from.

Jonathan did love nothing more than to argue points, and this one was rapidly approaching it's due date. "On the contrary, my dear Edward, it is you who must stop- that is, stop your facade of chivalry. You know well as I do that you aren't meant for this law-abiding behaviour. Do us both a favor and drop the act," Jonathan sniped back, annoyed and with detached air of flippance. Edward shot him an incredulous stare, nose scrunching in disbelief.

"You think I'm kidding? Seriously? I want to change my life, Jonathan, I want to stop hurting people and start helping them. All that's important to me is that I'm the most intelligent around, and I see no reason why I should have to do that behind bars. Don't you get it?" His short speech was punctuated with grandiose arm movements, and honest to god unshed tears shining in his eyes. He was exasperated and distraught to be sure, but also terrified. 

"You've never cared a day in your life 'bout anyone except fer y'rself, Edward, don't act all holier than thou. And I s'ppose no, I don't 'get it', because from where I stand you're askin me to give up my whole life and everythin I've worked for, just so you can live out some vigilante fantasy. The truth may hurt, Edward, but people like us don' *get* to be good." Jonathan by now had dropped his unaffected air, and was visually becoming more infuriated by the minute. His tone became clipped, and the angrier he grew, the more his voice drawled, accent thick on his tongue.

Suddenly, Edward relaxed from his tense posture, and his face took a blank expression of regret and acceptance. "Well, I guess that's it then. I'm not gonna make you choose, Jonathan," and at this Jonathan cringed- Edward _never_ used his full name, "since I already know what the answers going to be. That, at least, is easy enough to deduce, even if I _apparently_ don't even _know_ you anymore." He started gathering the bag he had brought home with him into his arms, and almost robotically turning around, proceeded to walk to the door. 

Jonathan, shocked, stared at him. "You can't be serious, Edward - you're gonna end it-us-everythin' we have over _this_?" he asked, finally realising the scope of the situation.

Edward turned around, the sudden fire in his eyes not doused by the tears coursing rivulets down his blotchy face. "You know what? Yea, I am. Fuck you, _Jonathan_ , people _can_ change. I'll be back for my stuff tomorrow. Goodbye," he spat, slamming the door behind him, rattling the walls in his wake. A picture of the two on the wall fell, the glass shattering. 

So did Jonathan.

***

An hour and a half later, the tranquil aura of the Wayne manor lay dormant, carefully crafted with the gentle patter of the storm outside as well as the crackle of the fire contained in the wall, spreading a comfortable warmth throughout the room and pervading and relaxing the senses. The peace was not to last, however, being that as soon as Bruce had opened his newest book to pore through, the doorbell rang. Due to the late hour, Alfred had already gone to bed, and Dick was on patrol tonight , taking care of the city, so with a slight amount of disgruntlement, Bruce decided to check the door for himself, rather than summon a servant. Socked feet padded against the floor as Bruce mused as to who it might be. Jason had only just spent the weekend- maybe he left something? But no, he had a key. 

Before he reached the door, Bruce made sure to grab a pair of knuckles from a table in the entry hall, specifically kept there on the off chance that someone *was* stupid enough to attempt to mug him, rob him, or god forbid kidnap him. The doorbell had gone off a few more times in the few seconds it took Bruce to cross rooms, and by the time he arrived at the door he was able to identify a frantic knocking. Probably paparazzi then. Bruce steeled himself, held his be-weaponed fist, and opened the door.

Beyond the threshold, however, was not the pervasive and pushing cameras, questions and flashing lights, but instead the sodden form of a man who looked on the brink of a breakdown. In a heartbeat, Bruce recognised him- Edward Nygma, aka the Riddler, who had apparently recently begun aiding the GCPD after a long coma and battle with amnesia. And, Bruce noted mentally, one of the only other trans men Bruce had ever known.

"Edward? From GSA? What are you doing out in the rain at this hour?" Bruce asked, remembering that Edward would have no way of remembering he was Batman after losing his memory. "Please, come in, you'll get sick out there."

"I'm s-sorry for imposing, Mr. Wayne, I just- I just didn't ha-have anywhere else to go," and god, he looked so small and defeated, the opposite of the man whose schemes he had foiled so many times in the past- here, Nygma was a dripping echo of the man Bruce had known. He hurriedly ushered Nygma into the parlour, ignoring the water cascading off him and more concerned with a man which half of him hesitantly called a friend.

"Please, call me Bruce. What happened? You look awful, Edward," Bruce said, remembering that the Bruce Wayne the public knew was often tactless and probing. As he navigated Nygma's sodden and shuffling body into a chair, Bruce noted the red rims under his eyes, the quiver in the line of his shoulders, and the uncharacteristically withdrawn, quiet attitude he seemed to have adopted. 

"Jo- I broke up with my boyfriend," Edward sniffled, the tears having abated somewhat thanks to the calming atmosphere given off by the crackling fireplace, and the concerned face sitting next to him. Eddie fiddled with his hands, twisting them anxiously. "We have- had, been together for about 15 years now...but now he's gone, and it's my fault." 

Bruce faked an appropriate small gasp, all the while acknowledging the information Nygma had given him- nothing he hadn't already known, but to hear it from the horses mouth, as it were, always was good, when considering evidence. Distantly, he realised his crestfallen companion wasn't likely to talk again without probing, and so he summoned the presence of mind to continue the gentle interrogation. 

"Why did you leave him? He wasn't- he didn't hit you, right Edward?" Bruce asked with falsely widened eyes. The question wasn't all a ruse; while it wasn't in Crane's MO to resort to physical violence, if Nygma was being domestically abused, Bruce would put a stop to it. Bruce was proud of the amount of commitment Nygma was putting towards his reform; Nygma had never been so unselfcentered in his life. If Crane wanted to put a stop to it, there would be more than words exchanged.

Edward took the opportunity to shake his head violently, water droplets flying from his dripping, ginger locks. "Jon was- is a snarky bastard, and hard to live with, but he's never hit me. The truth is...Bruce, I have a confession to make," Edward looked at Bruce, who nodded appropriately, eyes still synthetically widened. "I... haven't always been a good person. I've done some things- a _lot_ of things," he amended, shaking his head self depreciatingly, "that I regret. But I'm working to be a better person; right my wrongs, that sort of thing. But Jon," and Edwards voice broke on the uttered name, signalling the renewed waterworks, "Jon dosen't want me to change. He thinks I should remain pathetic and-and grovelling, snivelling, like the scum of the earth. Is it so wrong to want to change, Bruce?" Edward asked, tear tracks coursing down his face as he unconsciously took Bruce's calloused hand in his.

Bruce patted the slender, freckled, shaking hands with his free one, a calming gesture he used to use on Dick and Jason when they got distressed. The effect was almost immediate- Edward's bright eyes, shining with unshed tears, looked at him, but made no effort to move his hand. Bruce cleared his throat. "I'm sorry you had to leave this- Jon, but I think you're right. People should always have the opportunity to be better, and anyone who can't see that doesn't deserve to have goodness bestowed unto them." Edward smiled, for the first time that night, and for the first time Bruce saw how tired and wrecked the question meister truly was. (Bruce made a mental note to not go easy on Crane next time the Scarecrow decided to commit a crime.) 

"Thank you, Bruce, you've always been a good friend to me," Edward said, extricating his hands from under Bruce's, seemingly shaking off the sullen mood with a self-effacing grin. Ah, there he was.

"I try to be," Bruce said, once again picking up his 'playboy billionaire' personality and running with it. Unbidden, he glanced over at his companion, who had merely a small bag with him. A thought occurred to him. "Edward?"

"Yes?" 

"Do you..." and here Bruce internally grimaced. Friends close and enemies closer, he supposed. "Do you have a place to stay?"

The question seemed to suprise Edward, who blinked, lips parted slightly. "I...suppose I don't, though I was planning on loaning a hotel room for the night at least. Why do you ask?" Edward looked genuinely confused. How the verified genius could solve complex riddles and not a simple bit of social interaction puzzled Bruce to no end.

Damn his charitable public image. "You could stay here, until you get back on your feet, if you wanted, Edward," Bruce offered, keeping his internal hesitation out of his voice and face. Edward's face lit up, before slowly fading to a mere glowing ember. 

"I couldn't impose on you like that, Bruce- you've already been so kind to me, it's more than I deserve," and there it was, that uncharacteristic self-depreciation again. It sounded so unnatural from such a normally narcissistic, hyper-confident voice. Bruce hated it. 

"It would be my pleasure, though, I must insist. I have so many extra rooms- the only other people here to inhabit them are my butler and my kids. It would be no trouble, Edward, honestly," and when he flashed his winning smile, his public smile, Edward knew his case was lost.

"...if you're sure I wouldn't be a nuisiance, then I would love to, Bruce," Edward replied, happier than he had been the entire visit. 

Bruce stood, gesturing for Edward to do the same, as he weighed the pros and cons. Overall, he discovered he wasn't nearly as unhappy with the concept of the former Riddler staying in his house, than he thought he was going to be. By far, Riddler was the least disagreeable of the Rogues, and particularly now that he was reforming, Bruce had fairly high hopes for him. With any luck, he would be a paragon, an icon, for any other Rogues who wanted to stop being, well, criminals.

Bruce led Edward up to the second floor, where the vacant bedroom next to Bruce's own was. The door swung open as Bruce pushed on it- given that the room was mostly used as a guest bedroom, it was kept in good condition by Alfred. Edward followed Bruce through the threshold, failing to contain a small gasp at the splendor of the room. Gingerly, he set his bag down and sat on the bed. Bruce cleared his throat. "Down the hall and on the right is the bathroom, and I'm next door if you need me." He'd be keeping the door locked tonight, but hey, what was life without precautionary measures? "Do you have any clothes to wear for bed- or, extra binders?" Bruce asked, knowing that Eddie hadn't undergone top surgery yet. Bruce had been fighting a behind the scenes, uphill battle with Arkham's medical staff concerning transgender inmates and their receiving the proper medicine and care they needed, and a side effect of this was he knew the details of most of Arkham's transgender inmates. Not that he hadn't known already- in the meetings Bruce had organised as a kind of free speech LGBT+ center of Gotham, Edward had always been as vocal about his gender as he was in all other walks of life.

Edward shook his head no to both. "I left everything behind, I didn't even pack a bag, just grabbed my work satchel. God, I'm going to have to go back there and get my stuff, aren't I," Edward's spirits dampened somewhat, decidedly not in the mood to see Jonathan again, and it showed on his face. Bruce sympathetically and carefully put a hand on his shoulder, (having read Edward's file, he was well aware of the abuse Edward suffered at the hands of his father) easing him onto the bed.

"Tell you what- you don't think about that right now; and as for sleepwear, you can borrow some clothes from my oldest, since I think anything of mine will be a bit big on you. And, my youngest son has a few extra binders- one of them might fit, if you're willing to try it," Bruce said, utilising the charm of his Playboy persona to its full extent. Mercifully, it worked- the downtrodden and depressed Nygma was shaken from his dreary reverie, and for his efforts he was awarded a small smile, the light glinting off his companion's square glasses as he pushed them up on his face.

"You're a good person, Bruce, has anyone ever told you that? Of course they have, what am I saying- but still, I couldn't possibly ever thank you enough for this. I owe you a life debt, I mean it," Edward said reverently, trace amounts of his personality seeping back into his speech. It was almost relaxing- Edward's personality was grating at the best of times, but anything was better than the withdrawn mess he had been. Remembering he was supposed to say something, Bruce chuckled lightly, a light blush springing forth to his cheeks.

"I don't know about all that, Edward- you don't owe me anything except to keep trying to be better. That's all any of us can do." Bruce wasn't sure if his persona was even the one talking anymore. "In any case, it's a bit late, and-" Bruce started, faking the stifling of an equally fake yawn. "Let me get you some of Dick's clothes, so you can get to sleep, okay? I know breakups are hard- believe you me- but I promise you'll feel better of you get some sleep." Bruce surprised himself at how well the role of heartbroken bachelor was coming to him- this wasn't a facet of his public persona he often had to display.

Edward flushed, watching as the taller man stretched and exposed a sliver of skin just above the line of his pants. He wet his suddenly dry mouth with his tongue. "I- Yes, please, I would like that very much." Bruce nodded at that, padding off, and leaving Edward alone with his thoughts. 'What the hell am I doing? Jon would kill me if...Oh, right. Jonathan decided I'm not morally impure enough for him anymore. Riddle me this, Eddie: What is the price of embracing justice? Must I trade my love for the right thing?' 

Elsewhere, Bruce was not only grabbing a spare nightshirt from Dick's drawers (and a spare binder from Tim's), but also sending a ping to Tim and Dick, who were out patrolling, requesting to talk. Right as he finished gathering all the clothes, grateful that they were clean, Tim comm'd him. 

"What's up, Dad? Everything ok?" Tim asked, slightly out of breath. Bruce fought the urge to roll his eyes- it was evident that his youngest son was mid combat.

"Everything's fine Tim, I just wanted to let you and Dick know that Edward Nygma would be staying the night in the second floor guest bedroom," Bruce responded easily, waiting for the inevitable explosion from his sons.

"Riddler?! Why the heck is Riddler staying at your house? What the hell, Bruce?" Dick exclaimed loudly, forgetting himself. After a moment, he amended. "I'm by myself on a different roof, sorry- But seriously, what the hell is he doing there?" Dick added, well aware of the "no first names in the suit" rule.

"Apparently, Crane didn't approve of his recent change of heart, and the two broke up over it. Nygma knows Bruce Wayne from GLGBT+ meetings, and apparently, I'm the only person he trusts enough to come to." At the snickering on one of the other lines (probably Dick's, if the aborted wheezes were anything to go by), Bruce added, "The irony hadn't escaped me either, don't worry."

"But, Dad, isn't having him in the mansion, like, a huge risk?" Tim asked, breathing back to normal. He must be done fighting, then.

"It is, and normally I wouldn't even bother with him, but Nygma is currently on the shit list of just about every Rogue in Gotham- excluding Quinn, for obvious reasons. I'd rather keep him close and keep an eye on him, than have him get turned back to a life of crime." 

Dick grunted, and a rush of air by the mic signalled that he was grappling and talking. again. Bruce made a mental note to chew him out later. "Sound logic, though I'm still a little uneasy with the thought of him in the same house as you two overnight. Mind if I stay the night?" Dick asked.

Bruce grinned, the thought of his oldest back home never failing to cheer him up. "By all means, Dick, as long as Tim's okay with it."

An excited cheer could be heard over the comms. "Of course!! We can have a sleepover!" 

"It's settled then. There is one thing you two should know, though." Bruce smirked, hovering his fingers over the 'off' button of his comm.

"What's that, Dad?" Tim asked, curious.

"It's possible I stole clothes from both of you for our 'guest'. Good luck!" Bruce silently laughed at his sons' exclamations, or in Dick's case, swearing, as he hastily shut his comm off and headed back to Edward to give him the pilfered clothing.

When he got back inside, however, Edward was asleep, apparently having exhausted himself to sleep, if the somehow even more recent tear tracks down his face were any indication. Noting that Edward had taken off his binder before falling asleep, judging by the rumpled jacket and small article of clothing on top of it, that lay resting on the chair aside the bed.

His glasses were askew, too, Bruce noted. The specific angle they were at was undoubtedly painful, too, and so silently, against his better judgement, he crept over to the bed, hesitantly placing a hand in front of the sleeping man's face. Carefully, so carefully, he removed the glasses, folding then and putting them on the bedside table. Edward stirred in their absence, mumbling a quiet, pained, "Jon...", before turning over and falling back asleep, grasping a pillow in death grip. Feeling like he wasn't meant to have seen that, now or ever, Bruce crept back out, leaving the pile of clothes on the chair with his suit jacket.

Surprising even himself, Bruce's heart went out to the man in the other room. He had been trying, honest to God trying, to make a positive change in his life, and so far all it was bringing him was pain. Hopefully, Bruce could find a way to help him, for not only Edward's sake but also for all of Gotham. When given the choice between a master criminal or a genius private investigator, the choice was clear. Hell or high water, Bruce decided then and there to help Edward, be it financially or emotionally, stunted though he may be, in order for him to become the kind of man to truly help Gotham. With that determined musing, he slipped into his own bed, clothes having been removed on the short trek back to his bedroom (and after having locked the door), and fell into a light, but hopeful, sleep.


End file.
